


The Day Was Also Dry

by shiphitsthefan



Series: The _____ Was Also _____ [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Chuck is God, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Team Dean's Red Ass, Top Castiel, Under-negotiated Kink, and God Is Kind of a Dick, there's no such thing as too much lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: As he stood somewhere in the middle of the Mojave Desert watching Dean divest himself of clothing, Cas couldn’t help but tally up the pros and cons of turning Dean’s ass red, whether he smacked it open-palmed or just held him down and let it sunburn. Either option sounded good, considering Dean was the one who stranded them out here. Maybe he still had enough juice to speak with animals and summon a snake of a different slither.I’ve left a red handprint on him before, Cas thought. This isn’t so different.***[sequel to "The Night Was Also Moist" but can stand alone]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/gifts).



> Can you believe I'd somehow never written Destiel-themed spanking before? Yeah, neither could I.

The day was bright and sunny, light streaming through the window like scorching hot claws begging to be let inside, the midday sun above him only disturbed by the occasional cloud. He buried his head in his hands, perspiring and panting under the oppression of unbearable heat.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done.”

“That’s an excellent question, Dean,” said Cas. Because it was. Absolutely. Never before had there been an inquiry more fitting of the situation.

Cas added his tie to the growing pile of sweat-drenched clothes.

“How am I--” Dean glanced up at Cas from where he stood bent over, hands clamped to his knees. “--okay, we. How are _we_ supposed to fight like this?” He straightened up, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt and lifting it up over his head as he went. It stuck to his back and chest, made him have to practically peel it off his body.

“You only have yourself to blame. You are the one who decided that the best way to defeat a frost elemental would be to cast a fire spell. On _us.”_

“Hey,” objected Dean, “not just on us.” He ran his hands through his hair and shook the sweat from his fingers.

“Of course,” Cas began, wiping droplets of Dean’s sweat from his face, “how silly of me. How could I forget the area of effect comprising a five-mile radius?”

Dean shrugged. “Killed the monster, didn’t it?”

“And trapped us in the desert until Sam arrives to save us.” Cas toed off his shoes, tossing them off his feet and in the general direction of his trench coat.

“Sam’ll come through. He always comes through.”

“Except for when he doesn’t.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Cas. How was I supposed to know it would block your mojo?”

“I am _sweating,”_ said Cas.

“So am I!”

“Angels do not _sweat.”_

Dean plopped down in the sand and started untying his boots. “Except for when they do,” he sassed back.

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me smite you.”

“Sounds kinky.” He threw his boot onto the pile. Cas watched it leave a dirty print on his suit jacket, irritating him further. “Something else your dad came up with? Celestial spanking?”

But Cas refused to be baited. Thus far, he’d been very accommodating of Dean’s preferences in the bedroom--all accept this. He absolutely refused to strike Dean, afraid he’d hurt him.

“That’s kinda the point, Cas,” Dean had told him.

“I meant more than desired,” Cas had replied.

It was a legitimate concern, Cas thought, especially considering their past. They’d each beat the other into a pulp before, though neither one of them had been in control of themselves at the time. Cas had even been afraid to hold Dean down at first, remembering that night in the alley that seemed like centuries ago. In the end, he’d relented and given Dean what he wanted.

Cas couldn’t deny that he enjoyed having Dean under his thumb, even if Dean was a complete, utter brat. “Bossy bottom” didn’t even _cover_ it. But Cas was happy to let him mouth off, loved how vocal he was when Cas fucked him, the moans and endearments punctuating the demands of _harder_ and _faster_

He’d thought about it before, the spanking. Watching Dean walk away from him was becoming increasingly more difficult. Kneading Dean’s ass while Cas pounded into him from behind happened less now. Cas has opted, instead, to hold Dean down with both hands, pressing him increasingly farther and farther into the mattress. Every time Dean demanded they change positions or, worse, just flipped them over with no warning and outright took his pleasure from Cas, he thought about how _undisciplined_ Dean was, and how much that needed to change.

How much he wanted to punish him.

As he stood somewhere in the middle of the Mojave Desert watching Dean divest himself of clothing, Cas couldn’t help but tally up the pros and cons of turning Dean’s ass red, whether he smacked it open-palmed or just held him down and let it sunburn. Either option sounded good. Maybe he still had enough juice to speak with animals and summon a snake of a different slither.

Cas growled and began to unbutton his shirt.

“I mean,” said Dean as he looked between his feet like he wasn’t sure what to do with his socks, “it’s not like you’ve never experienced sweating.”

 _I’ve left a red handprint on him before,_ Cas thought. _This isn’t so different._

“We’ve still got the canteen.”

“Thankfully,” said Cas. _Though I’m tempted to throw it at you._

Dean stretched his arms overhead, shoulder blades prominent, muscles further defined. Beads of sweat chased each other down his spine to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.

 _I did a good job on that._ Cas tilted his head, fascinated; he almost squinted, then stopped himself. Sam had called him out on doing it too often, as being a distinctly inhuman--or, at least, off-putting--trait. He’d felt obligated to work on fixing it, especially considering Dean had laughed when Sam pointed out his obscene lack of table manners and then vowed to do worse.

_Okay, maybe I could have fixed a few undesirable elements._

“This probably isn’t a good idea,” Dean said, craning his neck back to look at Cas. “I think you’re supposed to wear long sleeves in the desert. Y’know, to prevent sunburn.” He smiled the same shit-eating grin that he always assumed would get him off the hook. “But you can just zap that away once we get back to the motel.”

“I could, I suppose.” _Or I could make it last longer, if I’m not feeling merciful. Which I’m not._

“I really don’t know why you’re so pissed off.”

“Unlike some of us,” Cas accused, “I don’t feel a need to mark my territory.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know what ‘pissed off’ means, angel; don’t play dumb with me.” A beat, and then, “And I don’t take leaks outside!”

“March 17th, the parking lot of the Biggerson’s in Bangor.”

“That was _one time!”_ said Dean, looking skyward as if for godly assistance. Since they both knew Chuck and Amara were tweeting cat memes from now until the eventual heat death of the universe--which, if Dean had anything to do with it, might be in the next ten minutes--that was extremely unlikely.

“Yes,” Cas replied, “one time _that I know about.”_ He balled up his white shirt and aimed for Dean’s head. It landed sadly at Cas’ own feet.

“Seriously, though. You’re completely overreacting to this whole depowered-and-locked-on-the-planet-Dune thing.” Dean pulled his belt from its loops and began to wind it around the buckle. “This is hardly the worst situation we’ve been in. Purgatory comes to mind.”

Cas started kicking his shirt over toward the growing mound of clothing. “Undoubtedly. However--” He growled at the shirt as he managed to kick it into the sand rather than over top of it.

“However?”

“It was hardly this warm.” He paused. “Not that it would have mattered, seeing as I retained my angelic abilities, and therefore would not have been bothered by it.”

“Yeah, but you’d’ve still had to watch this pretty face suffer.”

And didn’t _that_ bring all sort of ideas to Cas’ mind. “I’m not entirely certain that would be unwelcome at this point.”

Dean’s belt landed square in the center of the pile. Figured. “Remember that time I called you a baby in a trenchcoat?”

“Of course not,” snapped Cas as he gave up and simply walked his shirt over to the collection site. “How could I possibly remember the single worst insult anyone has ever given me?”

“You’re not wearing a trenchcoat, so stop being a baby,” Dean said--and who had given _him_ the right to sound exasperated? He didn’t deserve to _be_ exasperated. “That’s all I was getting at.”

Cas sighed, trying to decide if he should join Dean at the no-pants party. On the one hand, he would feel cooler; on the other, that left greater opportunity for sand to insinuate itself into inhospitable environments. Unfortunately, the presence of sand also ruled out any thoughts of spanking Dean that Cas absolutely wasn’t having.

Although it would be the perfect time to do so. Cas wouldn’t have to worry about going too far, since his suddenly human arm would tire out. Sam was miles away. _Everyone_ was miles away, actually. Besides, just because Cas didn’t want sand in unmentionable places didn’t mean Dean couldn’t smuggle a beach in at least one orifice. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Cas had been vindictive and vengeful.

Cas turned to face Dean just in time for a pair of jeans to hit him in the face. They dropped to the desert floor with a soft _plop._

“Oops?” said Dean, shrugging, completely unapologetic.

 _I don’t want to hurt Dean,_ Cas reminded himself. Striking Dean out of anger would be deplorable behavior. Any parent worth their salt knew to wait until they were in control. Then again, any parent worth their salt knew not to strike a child, at all.

Luckily for Cas, he wasn’t a parent, though Dean was indisputably childish.

“Hey, at least my wallet and phone weren’t in there.”

Cas blinked. “Then where are they?”

“In my jacket.”

“Which is...where, exactly?

Dean began to rub the back of his head. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “In the car.”

 _No._ “Come again?”

He laughed and said, “But I haven’t come a first time yet.”

_Oh, Father, no._

“Anyway, yeah, my jacket’s in Baby’s back seat.”

Cas shut his eyes. If he closed them hard enough, then maybe he’d be able to concentrate and find a smidgen of Grace with which to teleport himself. Preferably to some place that had never even _heard_ of a Winchester. “I thought,” he began slowly, evenly, calmly, “that you called Sam.”

“I thought _you_ did.”

“You threw my phone at the frost elemental!”

“Well _someone_ had to distract the fuckin’ thing!”

 _I don’t want to hurt him,_ thought Cas. _I don’t. I don’t._

 **_Yes,_ ** Castiel, replied a familiar voice inside Cas’ brain. **_Yes, you do._ **

His nostrils flared. _I have waited nearly a decade for you to speak to me one on one--_

**_Yeah, sorry about that._ **

_\--and you choose_ now.

Chuck tuned his guitar from very far away. **_I have incredibly selective hearing. Always here for some divine bisexual intervention, though._ **

_You are worse than he is, Father._

**_Made in my very own image._ **

“Cas?” asked Dean, snapping his fingers in front of Cas’ face. “You okay over there?”

“No,” Cas said steadily. “No, I am not okay.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Not being the idiot that got us stuck in the desert would be an excellent start, I think.”

Dean glared at him in a huff, though the tilt of his mouth indicated that he was trying to come up with a witty retort. “Well...well…” Cas kept his gaze, enjoyed watching Dean squirm under scrutiny. “Well fuck you, too,” he finally ended up with.

**_Fuck him, indeed._ **

_Shut up, Dad._

But Cas said nothing aloud. Not one word. He bent down and picked up Dean’s coiled belt from the pile, then sat down on the clothes, themselves. Dean wanted kinky? Cas could do kinky.

Fuck it.

 **_No,_ ** **him,** **_Castiel._ **

_You’re not my real father._

Cas shook his head to clear out the Holy Ghost. There was nothing holy about where this was headed.

Well. _One_ hole, he supposed.

“Dean.”

“Cas?”

He smiled wickedly. “Come here.”

Dean looked skeptical. “Why?”

“Because I said to,” said Cas, simple, like that was what they did every day--Cas ordering, Dean obeying. “I’ve decided to finally give you what you want.”

He crept over cautiously, like he wasn’t sure whether Cas was going to screw him or smite him. In his defense, both were equally likely. But Cas extended his arm, held out his hand as invitingly as possible, his own legs stretched out in the sand, crossed at the ankle. Dean took Cas’ hand, letting himself be pulled down to straddle his lap.

“We about to get friendly down in the sand?” asked Dean, lifting his eyebrows.

Cas _hmm_ ed. “I suppose it entirely depends on your definition of the word ‘friendly’.”

“It’s from _Grease,_ Cas.”

“I don’t see how oil has anything to do with it.”

“Just tell me what we’re doing, okay? Since you seem all authoritative today.”

And this wasn’t as bad as Cas thought it would be. He was still angry, of course, but Cas had a lapful of nearly naked Dean and a plan for what to do with him. “I want you to put your arms behind you.”

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

Cas repeated, “I want you to put your arms behind you.” He seemed wary, but Dean did it, anyway. Cas uncoiled the belt and wound it around Dean’s wrists, pulling the free end through the buckle. Since actually buckling it wasn’t an option, Cas simply fed the belt back through the loop, separating one arm from the other.

“You know I can get out of this, right?”

“Are you going to try?”

He was silent for a long moment before saying, “No. No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Cas laid a palm flat between Dean’s shoulder blades, pushing him forward and into a kiss. It was over just as quickly, more mutual reassurance than anything else. “Now,” said Cas, lips brushing across Dean’s with each word, “I want you to lie across my lap.”

Dean let out a tremulous breath. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna do it. You’re finally going to do it”

 _Wait._ Cas suddenly pulled back, nearly knocking Dean off balance. “Have you been being increasingly obstinate and infuriating on purpose?”

“Maybe,” Dean replied with a wink.

“You’ve been manipulating me into--” Cas’ features hardened. So much for not spanking Dean while angry. “Over my lap.”

“But--”

 **_“Now.”_ ** If Dean’s gasp and hurried compliance was any indication, Cas’ smiting voice was still in full force. Still, it took Dean some strategic maneuvering to situate himself across Cas, and he grimaced upon realizing that his face was going to end up in the sand. Dean grit his teeth audibly, then put his cheek to the shifting grit beneath him.

Cas didn’t praise him; he had no inclination to do so. What he did do was run an index finger along the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs, very slowly, skin slippery with sweat. Over and over, back and forth, until Dean relaxed.

Good.

“I believe it is customary to have a word in these situations,” mused Cas.

“What?”

“That will do,” and Cas jerked down the back of Dean’s underwear to rest right under the cheeks of his ass. With no further warning, he brought one open-palmed hand down exactly in the middle of the left cheek.

Cas wasn’t sure what was louder: the slap of skin on skin, or Dean’s choked exhalation of, “Fuck!”

“A good fuck?” Cas asked, resting his hand over the freshly-made mark.

“Oh, it’s always a good fuck, babe.”

“Then I’m not trying hard enough,” and Cas cracked his hand harder over the same spot, then again, then twice more. Dean’s skin was beginning to grow warm beneath Cas’ fingers; his cock grew hard against Cas’ leg. It wasn’t particularly doing anything for Cas--he had wondered if he might find it arousing, but Cas had already decided what he liked most was Dean actually doing what’s asked of him, likely because it was such a _novel goddamn concept._

 ** _Leave me out of this!_** Chuck strummed a few chords and hummed a few words experimentally.

 _I would if you would actually leave._ Frustrated, Cas struck Dean too high, too hard, making him hiss and flinch away. _See? Look what you did._

**_Ugh, fine, fine, I’m going._ **

Cas waited for Dean to relax again, doing nothing more than rubbing the bright red mark where he’d concentrated the spanks. As soon as Dean did, Cas switched to the other cheek, stroking it, running his nails across it.

Dean whined. “C’m _on,_ just _do_ it alrea--”

It was instinct that drove Cas to grab the exposed side of Dean’s face and push his head farther down into the sand, just as it was instinct that fueled the series of sharp blows he delivered to the plushest parts of Dean’s ass, staccato swats to the low legato of Dean’s groans. Cas was relentless, driving harder for three or four smacks, then slowing down. At times, all Cas did was scratch over the hot, sore skin, or pinch it, or knead at it. He could hear Dean sniffling, and wondered what his face would look like once Cas let him back up, sand caking to the snot and tears on Dean’s face.

Dean seemed to be enjoying himself, however, crying or not. He rutted against Cas’ thigh, and Cas let him. The sight of Dean being so wanton and desperate was too sweet to stop. Cas had slowly begun to harden in his dress slacks simply from watching Dean, and all he could think about was how hot it would feel inside Dean, thrusting--

 **_You left and now you are sav--wait, wait, wait,_ ** Chuck said, interrupting his own song. **_Thrust is such an awful word, couldn’t you use something else?_ **

**“I really want to fuck you right now,”** said Cas as loudly as possible, as smitily as he was capable of, in an attempt to drown out the overbearing drone of his snooping parent. Cas slapped Dean’s ass again, the hardest one yet, and Dean bucked in his lap. “But we don’t have lubricant,” Cas continued, “so I suppose I’ll have to spank you until you release.”

“We do, we do, we _do_ have lube!” Dean panted, shoulders heaving with his breath.

“...What?”

“After the butt plug incident,” explained Dean, “I never leave home without it. Like the good Boy Scout I am.”

Cas released Dean’s head, and used the hand to reach for his jeans, instead. “You left your phone, but brought the lube?” he asked, rifling awkwardly through the pockets.

“Priorities, sweetheart.”

At last, Cas found five small packets of lube. He ripped one open with his teeth, making a face at the taste of synthetic molecules, and squeezed it directly onto Dean’s asshole. Before Dean could say something smart, Cas began to rub it around and in, doing undoubtedly the most rushed prep job in the short history of their sex life. Even so, every time he added a finger, pointedly ignoring Dean’s prostate--not to mention Dean’s loud complaints about said avoidance--Cas ripped open another pack of lube.

“Are you seriously going to use them all? I’m fucking _dripping_ back there.”

Cas took a short break to rewarm Dean’s cheeks, then returned to his work. Once he deemed Dean sufficiently lubed, Cas freed his arms. “Underwear off,” he said as he practically pushed Dean off of his lap. Cas unzipped his fly, freeing his cock only enough to lube up and fuck.

Dean didn’t ask where Cas wanted him. As soon as Cas removed his own hand, Dean straddled him again, guided Cas’ dick to his hole, and lowered himself down.

If he’d intended to do as he pleased, to treat Cas like nothing more than a tool as he sometimes did--not unkindly, or with that particular intention, but that was how it felt to Cas--then Dean was sadly mistaken. Once he was seated, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulders, and pushed him down on his back in the hot sand.

They were reduced to their basest instincts, meeting each other thrust for thrust--

**_Oh for the love of me._ **

_Shut. Up._

\--sweat dripping from Cas’ hair onto Dean’s closed eyelids, fucking as much with their tongues and mouths as with their bodies, polyester rubbing harsh on Dean’s red ass.

It was over almost as quickly as it started, Cas surprising himself with the suddenness of his orgasm. Dean only needed a few pumps of Cas’ fist on his cock to join him, and then they both lay spent in the sand, waiting for their hearts to slow down. Cas was unaccustomed to the breathless feeling of a human postcoital state; it felt suffocating, almost worse than the heat.

“Wow,” Dean muttered. “That was...wow.”

“Mmm.”

“You with the...and the...wow.”

Cas tried to nod, but gave up. “Hmm.”

“We’re gonna do that again, right?”

“Ehm,” because it was a possibility; Cas knew by how much he would have to limit his strength, once his powers returned to him.

Dean chuckled. “Awesome.”

Cas blindly searched for Dean’s hand and then laced their fingers together once he found it. They laid there, burning in the sun, sand scratching their backs, lube and come slowly leaking from Dean’s ass and Cas’ dick still hanging out of his slacks, soft. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but what in their lives ever had been?

It occurred to Cas, however, that, “Dean?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to retire?”

Dean cleared his throat. “This is the last hunt, I swear.”

“You said that last time.’

“Well--”

“And the time before that.”

“Cas--” Dean paused. “Actually, you know what? You’re right. We’ll go home. I’ll do better.”

Clouds passed overhead, a brief respite from the hellish heat.

“Cas?” asked Dean a few minutes later.

“Yes?”

“How, exactly, are we gonna _get_ home?”

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't even qualify for [SPN Coldest Hits](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/) this month, but I've chosen to participate, anyway. The contest's all about breaking and bending the rules, right?
> 
> Regardless of eligibility, November's challenge theme was two-fold: [no main character death, and the fic must be a sequel of a previous Coldest Hits fic](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/152319656425/novembers-prompt-posting-dates-15-18th-of). 
> 
> Written for the wonderful [majesticduxk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck/pseuds/majesticduxk/works) because she was the first person to ever use the term Team Dean's Red Ass in my presence, and it's honestly one of the best causes. We're going to the championships this year, I just know it! :D
> 
> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/). I also chirp occasionally witty things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan).
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence, even though it's a Coldest Hits fic. I don't play to win; I play to make a non-crack fic out of a ridiculous prompt. <3


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